


Second Helping

by Agent0fChaos (wir_sind_die_Jager)



Series: Holy One-Shots, Batman! [3]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: DCAU, F/M, Family Drama, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wir_sind_die_Jager/pseuds/Agent0fChaos
Summary: Harley Quinn has been returned to the care of her parents.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In 2009, I wrote this for the Livejournal community batfic_contest and it won 3rd place. :)

Harley prodded her beef and broccoli stir fry with her fork, desperately trying not to imagine her mother's eyeballs in its place.  
  
"What's the matter, you're not hungry? Gerald, will you look at how thin she is, your daughter? What did they feed you when you were in..." she still couldn't say the words. Arkham Aslyum. It was too crushingly real. "In Gotham? Huh? Not half as decent as this meal, I bet."  
  
"Nope," Harley sighed, keeping her blue eyes on her plate. "Not even close."  
  
Mrs. Quinzel gave her daughter a hard stare from across the table. "Are you going to be miserable, Harleen? Don't be miserable. You're not a teenager anymore."

  
"I'm not miserable, mom," Harley said with a forced smile. "Just thinkin' about...food." She stabbed two pieces of meat and two pieces of broccoli, jamming her fork full and shoving the food into her mouth. "Mmmm, see?" She said with her mouth full. "Yummy."  
  
"Always a comedian," grumbled Mrs. Quinzel. She leaned towards her husband. "She thinks she's at open mic night, your daughter."  
  
"Mm," replied Mr. Quinzel, noncommittally. Harley glanced at him worriedly. Her father had spoken all of ten words to her since she arrived in a taxicab – that Pop paid for – late last night. She counted each word, hoping more would come forth, but they were always short and hushed, as if speaking too much or too loudly would somehow further shatter their home. He had no words for her, not since her criminal escapades as Harley Quinn were recently revealed to the public. She had busted out her beloved Mistah J and assisted him with his latest gag on Gotham's finest. In doing so, Harley - Harleen - had unequivocally "tossed away" her education, career, and sanity, as her mother so eloquently put it last night.

"I told you she should have never abandoned that gymnastics scholarship," Mrs. Quinzel had said last night, interrupting her lecture to have an aside with her husband as if Harley were not sitting between them.

"You pushed me to drop it and take on psychiatry," Harley reminded her mother gruffly under her breath.

"I said you need a fallback because you weren't going to keep that figure forever and the Olympics would only have you until a certain age! If you weren't going to get in by the next summer Olympics, it wasn't going to happen. I wanted you to have a safety net, not get caught in a butterfly net!"

That was the end of that conversation before Harley retired to her old bedroom - preserved from her high school days. Gazing at her photos and memorabilia, it was like looking at objects from a previous life. The (natural) mouse brown hair, the gymnastic trophies, the batons, the hair pom-poms. _Who was this girl?_

After her capture, a stint in Arkham (this time on the other side of the glass) that included intensive therapy and self-actualization skills, Harley felt ready to tackle the world again. Yes indeedy do. Baby steps, Dr. Leland had advised. Every day will be a challenge, but a challenge worth conquering.  
  
_Now if only I can get through this; the challenge of Chinese take out and parental nagging._  
  
"What you need is a job," said Mrs. Quinzel with a nod. Drooping, Harley scowled when her mother wasn't looking. Now _this_ parental unit had more than her fair share of words for Harley. Harley kept silent as her mother continued to prattle. "A real job. Maybe, in time, you can go back to school again. What about one of those trade schools? There's one across town. Doesn't that sound nice? Learn a new skill. Cosmetology maybe? Oh, maybe your Auntie Liz will hire you in her salon. You can make appointments. That'd be nice. Don't you think that sounds nice, Gerald?"  
  
"Bor-ing," Harley huffed under her breath with an eye roll.  
  
"Beggar's can't be choosers, young lady," Mrs. Quinzel snapped back.  
  
"I'm not a beggar," grumbled Harley as she spelled out small words with the strips of beef on her plate. "I'm..." she thought about what, and who, she is exactly. "A funny girl."  
  
"Yeah, you were a real crack-up, the way you dressed up like officer naughty at that banquet honoring Commissioner Gordon."  
  
"I was a crack-up," Harley replied tersely, barely moving her full red lips as she spelled out **HA HA** with the slices of beef. Judging from her mother's withering glare, her perfect ears picked up on Harley's comment. _Like a damn bat,_ thought Harley bitterly. _Great, now I know who taught Batman all he knows about meddling._  
  
"Well, you need to find another trade," her mother cried, her voice shrill as she gestured accusatorially with her fork. "Otherwise you can enjoy a one-way ticket back to the loony bin where they put you."  
  
"Sara!" Mr. Quinzel gasped, shooting his wife a pained expression. Mrs. Quinzel threw up her hands in defeat, her shiny, perfectly manicured pearl pink nails catching the light. Harley looked down at her own fingernails. They had been clipped plain and short on her first day at Arkham. She longed to paint them her signature cherry bomb red.  
  
Running her hand over her cheek, Harley successfully tuned out her mother as she idly remembered the drug stores where she might be able to purchase make-up. _Have to make a list...red nail polish, red lipstick, black...no, no. No black. No white. Q-tips. Nail file. Cotton balls. I wonder if mom kept any of my old school bags – wait. No. Have to buy this stuff now._ Harley sighed.  
  
"...and don't you sigh at me, Harleen. Just because you're home now doesn't mean you can lollygag about and roll your eyes at everything we say. Right, Gerald?"  
  
"Mm," said Mr. Quinzel with a short nod, wiping his mouth with his napkin before placing it on his plate. "Excuse me."  
  
Harley openly stared at him as he got up and carried his plate into the kitchen. He did not acknowledge her desperate blue eyes. She kept her gaze on the doorway between the dining room and kitchen, waiting for her father's return.  
  
"...suppose I have to take you shopping. Hopefully you can still fit into those rags from high school, but truth be told – and I don't mean to insult you, Harleen - I think you've gained a little weight. Harleen, how much weight do you think you've gained since your freshman year at Gotham State?"  
  
Harley opened her mouth, intent on asking her mother to just repeat what she had asked, when a blaring car horn beeped outside, giving Harley a start. Her mother paid it no mind.  
  
"Harleen? What size are you now? Do you think I should loan you some of my clothes until we can go shopping? Let's see, I have work tomorrow morning but if you get all your chores done – oh yeah! Chores, missy. That's how it's gonna be around here from now on. You're not gonna just be a bump on a log."  
  
"Uh huh, sure, Ma," Harley said as she pushed away her plate of half eaten Chinese take out, got up from her seat, and peered out the window shutters behind her. Harley gasped as she spotted a dark, unfamiliar vehicle parked across the street and a very familiar figure hanging out of the back window. The stark white face, the blood red lips and that stylin' do. Harley felt her breath shorten and a smile spread across her face as she watched Mistah J stick his fingers in his mouth and tweet an ear-piercing whistle, causing the neighborhood dogs to answer back. Harley straightened up and clapped her hands excitedly.  
  
"Whee!"  
  
"Harleen! Are you listening to me?"  
  
"No, Ma, I'm not listening," said Harley in a lively voice. She looked at her mother as she panted, her heart racing with excitement. "And the name is Harley, Ma. Got it? Harley!"  
  
"Now, Harleen, your doctors at Arkham said-"  
  
"Nertz to those bums!" Harley cried jubilantly with her fists on her hips as she blew a raspberry. "They really oughta get a life, y'know."  
  
Harley looked up to see her father standing in the threshold of the kitchen, staring at her curiously, as if he had just noticed she were there. Their eyes locked and Harley hesitated for a minute before the sound of a car horn playing _La Cucaracha_ pushed away all shades of doubt from her mind. Grasping her father by the shoulders, Harley tenderly kissed his cheek before pulling back and giving him a cheerful wave.   
  
"Bye, Daddy!"  
  
Dumbstruck, Mr. and Mrs. Quinzel watched as their daughter bounded out of the dining room, opened the front door and ran outside without closing it behind her. They looked at one another for assistance, trying to gather their thoughts when a high-pitched squeal of their daughter's laughter echoed from outside, followed by the screech of tires peeling out. 


End file.
